Disclaimer: If this were mine, the show would consist of nothing but chick-flick moments and brotherly schmoop. But as it is, Supernatural has a plot. So clearly, it does not belong to me.

Warnings: More angst. We're almost at the end?

AU after episode 7x04

"It's- offer. Take it or leave-"

"What- think- won't just leave it?"

"...The fact that you need-."

Dean growled, driving the heels of his hands into his temples in a poor attempt at making it stop hurting. Which sucked because he had been knocked out, only to wake up and find he was no longer a chew toy. How that had happened, he had no idea. Why that had happened, he didn't know either. He'd have to ask Sam. But anyways, his body was back in one piece and he could feel his leg again. And that could have been awesome. Very awesome.

Unfortunately, all sense of awesomeness was short lived.

His head wouldn't stop hurting no matter what he did. Though he supposed that made sense. When did his head ever listen to him? Never. Because he was Dean Winchester. And there was apparently not a goddamn thing on the entire planet that listened to Dean Winchester

Exhibit A was the reason for his current headache because if Exhibit A had just done as he told him to, Dean's head wouldn't be hurting.

But of course, Sam Winchester, Offender #1, had not listened to him.

Then again, he supposed the migraine was actually his fault. And if Sam had been in that room with him at that moment, he would probably have been laughing his ass off. Or giving him a bitch-face. Or a combination of the two which was actually most likely.

But really, Sam hadn't told him what was going on. Just told him to "trust him." And yeah, Dean trusted Sam to watch his back, to do the "right thing," whatever that was. But what he didn't trust him to do was to watch after himself. Because that was Dean's job, a job Sam had never really had to do before, had never really done successfully before. And that was because Dean was the best at it. It was his job, something that no matter how old Sam got, he was never going to stop doing. At least, never again stop doing. Because no matter how many times Sam said he could take care of himself, he would never be able to do it as well as Dean could.

He was taking his job back, official right now. Big Brother - Status: Active. And with that, he knew he never wanted to see Sam cry because of him again, knew he never wanted to see Sam hurt because of him again.

So the fact that Sam was being an idiot right now? That was totally blamed on the fact that he hadn't told Dean what the hell he had planned on doing.

And Dean's head hurt because he had decided that the best way to make sure Sam wasn't doing something that was going to get him killed was to do something relatively stupid himself.

All he had done was relax his mind. He went Zen, became one with the world, checked out, whatever you wanted to call it. And if in doing so the bond naturally tried to yank him into Sam's head? Well, then that wasn't really his fault, now was it?

The annoying thing was that even though she hadn't managed to help in any other way and even though this situation was probably her fault, Kathleen had somehow managed to teach Sam how to establish an effective wall. And she didn't teach Dean how to work the bond right. Or at all. So apparently he had opened his mind too far because he was being repeatedly slammed against the roadblock Sam had put up. Sure, he appreciated the fact Sam was trying to protect him or whatever shit he had come up with, but the fact that his head was in agony and all he was getting for his trouble was the insignificant half of Sam's conversation with the devil sucked.

For the record, regardless of what Sam would say when he found out, this so wasn't totally his fault.

It had to be at least partially Sam's.

He let his head fall back against the wall with a thunk! and decided to repeat the action. That way there was at least some diversity to the pain. Break up the monotony.

"Let me- straight... You'll- I'll-"

"...Yes."

Just as he reached the high-point of his debate as to which direction was best to ram a skewer through his head, everything stopped. The disembodied, half-voices went silent and the pain stopped. Which was actually more worrisome than not.

Ten minutes later - ten agonizing minutes when Dean's mind went through every possible reason for the sudden silence - the door creaked open and Sam was thrown in, stumbling, barely catching himself on the wall next to Dean's head.

"Hey, Sam? Y'okay?" he called up, steadying hand reaching to fist in the side of his brother's shirt. But Sam didn't answer him right away. Instead, he dropped his forehead against the wall, lungs jerking in a way that couldn't be at all good. "Sammy? Sammy, talk to me." Dean grabbed the arm hanging down by his face and yanked on it. And it only made his concern grow when Sam came willingly, legs crumpling until he was sitting on the ground.

That was when Dean actually saw his brother's face. He was pale, sweat running down his neck, staining the collar of his shirt. And as Dean pulled on his arm, Sam just let himself be turned around so his back was to the wall, leaning up next to him. "Well, this is awesome. You're freaking catatonic. And you know what? I'm friggin' exhausted so no Ferris Bueller moment for you." After a moment of silence, he added, "...You understand that makes you Cameron, right?"

And that made Sam let out a breathy laugh, eyes falling closed. "Yeah. That's cool. Sloane was totally gonna dump Ferris for him anyway."

"Nuh-uh. Ferris was the cool one. No one'd dump Ferris. She felt sorry for the dude. That's all." Sam's smile grew, head rolling against the wall. And Dean already regretted starting this conversation.

"Whatever gets you through the night, Ferris," Sam laughed, turning his head to face him, and Dean's laughter shriveled up and died.

He grabbed his brother's shoulder, yanking him to face him more completely. "Sammy..." he breathed, gently running his fingers over the bite in Sam's neck, ignoring his brother's cursing. "Goddamn bloodsucking vampire leeches," he swore to himself, wondering how he had missed that when Sam had first come in. It was red and angry, already swelling around the puncture wounds and Dean was going to kill them. Every single goddamn one of them.

"It's fine," Sam whispered, waving the hand Dean had bandaged up not too long ago. And a part of him really wished just pushing on that scar would make it all go away again. But it wouldn't. It wouldn't and that was Dean's fault. Dean broke him. Dean broke him. And a part of him was pissed off that Sam let him have that much control over him. He was pissed off that for as independent and strong-willed as Sam was, Dean was the person he chose to be his Achilles' Heel. Because Sam was supposed to be the smart one.

The rest of him though, just hurt. Because Sam was the smart one. And Sam had chosen him, had always chosen him, because he was Sam's superhero big brother who would always protect him and would never hurt him.

If four year old Sam saw him now, if he saw what Dean had become, saw him yelling and hitting and breaking people, what would he think? If twelve year old Sam saw him now, compared him to the big brother he was convinced hung the sun for him each morning, what would he think? If twenty-two year old Sam saw him now, would he have taken a step out of Stanford?

And glancing over at his brother, he felt an amount of shame and pain and guilt that he never had before, an amount that couldn't even be defined.

How was he supposed to keep going knowing that everything Lucifer was doing, all the pain and agony Sam was going through, was his fault? How was he supposed to keep going knowing that everything was his fault, that he had sent his brother - best friend - back to the cage?

As he had said once so long ago, how was he supposed to live with that?

Oblivious to his older brother's thoughts, Sam's eyes were already starting to fall shut. And Dean supposed he should be grateful for that fact alone, that Sam was still willing to fall asleep when he was sitting right there.

"Sure it is, Sammy," he said quietly, patting his brother's shoulder as he helped him to lie back against the wall. "Go to sleep." He had a lot to ask him, a lot to say to him, but honestly, at that point, Sam wouldn't have been very responsive anyways.

After a moment, Sam nodded, a delayed reaction as his brain caught up to what Dean was saying. And Dean had been pretty sure he had fallen right to sleep, breath evening out, body sinking into the wall. But then he spoke, words slurred but no less understandable. "He said yes... Funny... Last time it was me saying that..."

Staring at his brother's face, Dean cataloged every line that shouldn't have ever existed, traced them with his eyes, memorizing how much had changed, how much had stayed the same. And he realized what he should have a long time ago: Time had passed, but things were still the same.

Sam had always been the same.

He rubbed at his eyes, sinking against the wall, trying to quiet his overactive mind.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

And he knew that he could say that everyday for the rest of eternity, and it still would never be enough. It wouldn't even be a start.

Swallowing, he closed his eyes. Not to sleep, but to rest. Because in this place, he would never leave them that vulnerable. And if his arm ended up wrapped around his brother's shoulders and Sam's head ended up on his shoulder? Well, there were no witnesses.

A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I promise the end is coming! Really! I do!